A Normal Feeling
by Adara-chan67
Summary: Sam remembers. PrePilot, songfic, oneshot. This is the shortest summary I've ever written.


DISCLAIMER: They're not mine. I just pretend they are so I can create the brotherly fluff I so love.

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**_Do you ever feel like breaking down?_**

**_Do you ever feel out of place?_**

**_Like somehow you just don't belong._**

**_And no one understands you._**

Sam Winchester stared into the flickering, dancing flames, his mind, for a change, completely blank. It was quite a feeling—as if all of his problems were suddenly nonexistent. And if he felt this way just _looking_ at the flames…

He hardly noticed as his hand began to move toward the blaze, grasping at the air, feeling the heat intensify…

"Sammy?"

Sam jumped as a hand fell on his shoulder, but quickly schooled his face into a mask before turning to face his brother.

"We're done here," Dean said carefully, gesturing toward the body Sam's obsession was emanating from. The fire was dying slowly now, the light fading away.

"Oh…right…" Sam said vaguely, looking back to the burning corpse.

"So…we should probably get home," Dean continued, still in that odd, cautious voice. "Dad's waiting at the truck."

Sam nodded, and let his brother steer him away from the grave.

_**Do you ever wanna run away?**_

_**Do you lock yourself in your room**_

_**With the radio turned on up so loud**_

_**That no one hears you screaming?**_

Sam woke up the next morning feeling gloomy. He didn't wonder why—the feeling was too normal these days to be questioned. But mixed with the gloominess was another, newer emotion—excitement.

He hadn't felt _that_ in a long time.

For almost fifteen minutes, Sam lay in bed and examined the feeling, trying to guess the reason for it.

"SAMMY, GET DOWN HERE! YOUR SUPREME GEEKNESS IS NEEDED!"

Sam groaned softly as Dean's voice rang clearly through the thin walls of the apartment. "IT'S SAM!"

"SORRY, DIDN'T CATCH THAT LAST BIT!"

Sam rolled his eyes and slid out of bed, already dreading the day.

He found his brother and father in the tiny kitchen, poring over newspaper clippings and research. The second he entered the room, he growled, "It's _Sam_, you thick-headed loony."

"The love he has for me has never been more obvious," Dean told John with a lopsided grin. "_Sammy,_ see if you can contain it for a while and use that fancy computer of yours to get us a hunt, huh?"

Sam's glance went to the laptop on the table, and felt another twinge. He loved that computer…or he had once, anyway.

"In a sec. I'm gonna go get the mail."

"Hey, aren't you supposed to be the old crank here?" Sam heard his brother ask as he left.

The apartment was on the third floor, and there was no elevator, but Sam didn't mind. The stairs prolonged his absence from the research.

The obscure excitement stayed with him as he went to their box and pulled it open. And as soon as he took out the thin pile, he figured out why.

**_No, you don't know what it's like_**

_**When nothing feels all right.**_

_**You don't know what it's like to be me.**_

"Hey, good, you didn't run off to join the circus. Can you do your thing now?"

The words were out of Dean's mouth the second Sam stepped through the door, each one hitting him like a sledgehammer in the gut. The youngest Winchester shook his head and dropped the mail on the table, then walked out of the room without a word to his family. He could _feel_ the weight of their looks, but he didn't stop or turn—he didn't have the willpower to do either.

Back in the relative comfort of his room, Sam fell onto his bed and took the carefully-folded piece of paper out of his pocket. He didn't open it—just lay there and _looked _at it, full to the brim with too many feelings to name.

He was still lying in exactly the same position when Dean came in, closing the door in typical Dean Winchester fashion: loudly. "Dude, what's _wrong_ with you this morning?"

Sam looked up at him, honestly confused. "Huh?"

"You've been acting nuts all—hey, what's that?"

Sam realized then that he still had the paper in front of his face, and he tried to stuff it quickly out of sight. "It's nothing—_hey_!" He cut himself off as Dean nimbly snatched the thing from him. "Give it back!"

"I will. Just as soon as I see what's got you so wound up."

"I told you, it's _nothing_," Sam insisted. "Don't—"

He choked the word out too late—Dean was already reading.

"We at Stanford University would like to thank you for applying…blah, blah, blah…"

Sam tried hard not to wince as his brother came upon the part of the letter that actually mattered.

"We would also like to congratulate you on your…you got _in_? Seriously?"

Sam did wince now. "Yeah."

Dean perched on the end of the bed, still holding the paper, looking a little dazed. "Wow…I mean, I knew you had applied, but I never thought you'd actually do it…"

"Thanks, you have no idea how good that makes me feel," Sam muttered, and Dean chuckled.

"No, no, it's…it's great, really. Congrats."

"Uh…thanks."

"Yeah. I mean, you're not gonna go, obviously, but still, it's—"

Sam looked very hard at his knees. "Yeah…about that…"

Dean stared at him for a second, then suddenly smiled. "Okay, cut the crap, Sammy-boy."

Sam sighed heavily, already building himself up for a fight. "Dean, look—"

"No, no, no, you can't be going where it looks like you're—"

"I want to go to Stanford."

"—Going. Sam, come on—"

"_What_ come on, Dean?" Sam asked. "It's not as crazy as you make it sound! I'm _eighteen years old_. That's when people go to college!"

"Yeah, normal people. We're not normal, Sam!"

"But I could be," Sam argued. "I _could_ be! I _want_ to be. And this is how I'm gonna do it."

Dean was shaking his head. "We're not mean for normal. Haven't you figured that out by now?"

"Well, maybe I could be."

"What makes you think so? What makes you different from us?" Dean demanded.

Sam leveled his gaze at him. "That's simple. I want it bad enough."

_**To be hurt.**_

_**To feel lost.**_

_**To be left out in the dark.**_

_**To be kicked when you're down.**_

_**To feel like you've been pushed around.**_

_**To be on the edge of breaking down**_

_**And no one's there to save you.**_

_**No, you don't know what it's like.**_

_**Welcome to my life.**_

Sam had faced more than his share of evil creatures in his lifetime. Demons, monsters, werewolves, ghosts, poltergeists—he had killed scores of them, all without a tremble. But none of those things held a candle to Jonathan Winchester when it came to intimidation.

John was sitting on the couch in the living room, checking over newspapers where anyone else would be watching the football game. Sam didn't try to drag his father's attention out of the search—it would take too much time and this needed to be done before he lost his nerve.

John started in surprise when Sam tossed the letter onto his lap. When he looked up and saw his younger son standing there, he smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes—it never did anymore. "Hey, Sam. I didn't even notice you there."

_Only he would be proud of something like that_, Sam thought wryly, but he made sure his feelings didn't show on his face.

"What's this?" John asked, picking up the paper.

"My future," Sam replied, outwardly calm.

"What—?"

"Just read it."

Sam could sense his brother, hovering just out of sight in the hall, but he kept his eyes on his father as John skimmed the page. The smile left his face slowly, and by the time he finished his face was completely expressionless.

"Why didn't you tell me you'd applied?" he asked, still not looking up.

Sam shrugged. "Well, at first, I just wanted to see if I _could_ get in. So it didn't seem worth mentioning."

"But you did tell Dean."

Sam didn't ask how he'd known. "Yeah."

John nodded, for some reason looking like he approved. "Well, if you just wanted to see, then why—" He cut himself off then, understanding flooding his face. "Because you want to go."

Sam knew he didn't have to answer, but he did. "Yeah. I do."

John's voice was carefully flat when he asked, "Why?"

Sam was ready for that one—he had been asking himself the same thing a lot lately. "Dad, I'm not cut out for this life. I'm not like you and Dean. And I'm sick of it. I'm sick of hunting and moving and keeping secrets. I just want to be…"

"Normal. You want to be normal," John finished. "Sam, we've talked about this."

"I know, I know. We're the reason normal people are still alive and all that. But…Dad, don't you ever think we deserve a break?"

An odd look crossed John's face then, but it was gone before Sam could identify it.

"We need you here, Sam," he said. "I'm sorry, but you can't go." And then he leaned forward and picked up the stack of articles again.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, a conversation did not just _end_ here!" Sam said before he could stop himself. He almost—_almost­_—regretted it when John's eyes grew cold, and he slowly put down the stack.

"You're not going."

"What, you think that if you say it, I'll just miraculously forget the whole idea?" Sam snapped. John didn't reply, and there was a long silence. "You know, I'd almost hoped that for once you'd thing of me, but—I guess that's too much to ask, right?"

John's face hardened, and his voice became icy. "You're not going, and that's final."

"I know. And I'm not asking you permission," Sam said, just as coldly. "And that's final."

He was halfway out of the room before John's calm voice stopped him.

"If you walk out that door, you stay gone."

In the ringing silence, Sam sensed Dean slipping away into his room.

_**Do you wanna be somebody else?**_

_**Are you sick of feeling so left out?**_

_**Are you desperate to find something more**_

_**Before your life is over?**_

Sam barely made it to his bed before his legs folded under him. For the longest time, he just sat, his father's words rocketing around in his mind. _Stay gone…you stay gone…_

His father kicking him out…that was one thing that he hadn't thought of. He had been prepared for anger, yelling, a monumental battle, a guilt trip—but not this.

This situation brought up a whole new set of questions. Now, it wasn't just, "Am I ready to make an attempt at normal life?" or "How the hell am I supposed to fit in?" Now, it was "Are they gonna be all right if I leave forever?" and "Am I _ready_ to leave forever?"

And, most importantly, "Is it worth it?"

"So that's it, then, right?"

Sam sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I have no idea."

Dean stepped into the room and went to sit next to his brother. "That was…intense," he said, unsurprised that Sam had known about his eavesdropping.

"Try being the one he was talking to." Sam groaned and ran both hands through his hair. "This is _insane_. I mean, it's not like I'm trying to abandon you guys…why is he so mad?"

Dean shrugged. "Well, you've given up the idea, anyway, so why does it matter?"

For some reason, Sam felt a spark of anger. "Who says I gave it up?"

"Wha—" Dean said, looking completely nonplussed. "You're not serious."

"Yeah, actually, I am."

"Sammy, have you completely lost your mind?" Dean demanded. "I mean, didn't you hear what Dad said?"

Sam nodded, still unable to look at his brother. "I know. But, Dean…"

"No, Sam. I'm not gonna talk about this! You can't just…"

"Do what I want for a change?" Sam shot back, suddenly on his feet. "But that's just it, Dean! I have a chance to do that, and I want to take it." His next words were very quiet. "I'm going to take it."

It was like signing an ironclad contract—once he'd said the words, his decision seemed final. No going back. He might as well be packed and gone already.

Dean got up and headed for the door, straight-backed and tense with rage and, under that, a deep sadness that would never be allowed to show.

He paused at the door, and asked a question, softly. "Is it worth it?"

Sam didn't pause to think about it—there had already been too much thinking in his life, in every action taken, every word spoken, ever desire held inside. "Yes."

_**Are you stuck inside a world you hate?**_

_**Are you sick of everyone around?**_

_**With the big fake smiles and stupid lies,**_

_**While deep inside you're bleeding.**_

"Dad, you have to talk to him."

John began to reassemble the gun in his lap without looking up. "Why?"

"What do you mean, 'why'?"

"I mean…why? He's always had a mind of his own—he's going to keep wanting this no matter what I say."

"But you need to at least _try_."

John sighed. "Dean, you know I'm no good at that kind of thing."

"Damn it, Dad!" Dean said, as loud as he could without actually yelling. "This is no time to hold onto your pride! Sammy is _leaving_ us!"

"Yes, I am aware of that," John replied, tossing the gun and jumping to his feet. "And how long do you think it will take him to get bored with 'normal life' and decide maybe all this isn't so bad after all? Better to let him go, get it out of his system, than to keep him here against his will and have him despise us."

Dean heard the words, and they did make a lot of sense, but…

"I think you're underestimating just how much he hates the way we live, Dad."

John's reply was interrupted before it began by Sam's arrival. He didn't have much with him, because he didn't own much. He barely looked at John as he came in, instead going straight to Dean, who was staring at him, unable to completely believe his eyes.

Sam couldn't seem to think of anything to say. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but finally gave up and just reached out to pull his brother into a hug, his grip always so strong for a man so thin. Dean hugged him back, awkwardly, never one for these moments.

It didn't last long, though, and in moments Sam had stepped back, picked up his suitcase again, and turned to their father.

There were no hugs, no well-wishes, no "I'll miss yous" or "I love yous" between the two. It didn't work that way with them. Sam just said, "I'll see you around, Dad," and then turned and walked out of his old life.

"I can't believe things got so…wrong…overnight," John muttered, and it couldn't have been more obvious that he hadn't meant for Dean to hear.

Dean, watching Sam's back as his younger brother walked out the door and out into a whole different world, shook his head. "No, Dad. Things have been wrong for a long time."

_**No, you don't know what it's like**_

_**When nothing feels all right.**_

_**You don't know what it's like to be me.**_

California was like nowhere else Sam had ever been. He had visited a few times with his father and brother, but always on jobs, and that meant that he never actually got to see it.

Stanford was a complete whirlwind of activity. In his first few days Sam talked and interacted with more people than he had ever _met_ before then—well, outside the clergy, anyway.

His classes started on Monday, the twenty-third of September. Sam arrived in California on Friday the twentieth, having applied late, so the time crunch was just severe enough to satisfy him.

The scholarship Sam had received gave him a full ride—four years, complete with the books and up to five classes, and even on-campus housing. So, in the first two days, he was bale to buy everything he needed and to settle into his new home—a double dorm in one of the half a dozen buildings on Stanford University campus.

His roommate seemed like a pretty decent guy, all things considered. Not someone he could get really close to, but it seemed they would at least be able to share the remote with minimal bloodshed. And most importantly, Paul would leave him be and let him live his own life.

He'd never shared a place with someone willing to do that before.

Sam's first day of classes was absolutely insane. He barely had time to meet anyone, and it ended with him in a haze of absolute exhaustion. But the second he went and turned on his computer, all that dropped away.

_SamWinchester1 has 1 new message. Return address--DeanWinchester._

_Sammy, it's your big bro. Just making sure you got to California alive and survived your first day. Dad and I are on the way to Maryland on a job so I won't be around for a while, but I'll drop you a line when we get back. Dean. _

The e-mail was short, but it was also so undeniably Dean that for a moment Sam forgot entirely why he'd left home. But then he hit the "reply" button…

_—Dean_

_Hey, it's good to hear from you. Yeah, I got here all right. First day was crazy, but I'm all in one piece. Good luck in Maryland. Talk to you when you get back. And it's not SAMMY._

_—Sam_

…And he remembered.

That's all I could think to say. My own brother and I have no idea what to say to him.

And the worst thing was, their relationship had never been any different.

**_To be hurt._**

**_To feel lost._**

**_To be left out in the dark._**

**_To be kicked when you're down._**

**_To feel like you've been pushed around._**

**_To be on the edge of breaking down_**

**_And no one's there to save you._**

**_No, you don't know what it's like._**

**_Welcome to my life._**

Sam met Jessica Parker on October 25th, a month after he came to Stanford.

It wasn't a big moment. It wasn't even a very memorable moment. It was just one of those things that happen at random—the person behind you drops their pencil in class and you pick it up for them. No big deal. Sam barely even glanced up as he handed it back to her. It barely counted as a meeting, but Sam would carry the memory for the rest of his life.

Their first conversation occurred the next day, and it was also of no real consequence. Just a simple "Hi, I'm Jessica" and "I'm Sam" before class.

The second chat was a lot more in-depth, when they both happened to be grabbing lunch at the same time. They struck up a conversation in the pay line, about classes and college life and suddenly they were sitting at a table in the common together. It was then that Jessica let slip her difficulties in her Latin class—and before Sam knew it he was offering to tutor her with no ulterior motive whatsoever where many guys would have had more than one.

And that was it. During the tutoring sessions Sam and Jessica had an abundance of time to talk, to grow close, to learn about each other.

To learn about love.

**_No one ever lied straight to your face._**

**_And no one ever stabbed you in the back._**

**_You might think I'm happy_**

**_But I'm not gonna be okay._**

It was March when Dean turned up at Stanford for the first time.

Sam didn't actually get to talk to him. In face, he got the distinct impression that he wasn't supposed to know that his brother had been there at all, considering how quickly Dean fled as soon as Sam caught sight of him.

It happened while Sam and Jessica were leaving the campus library after one of their slightly-infamous study sessions. It was just the two of them—it often was—and Sam's full attention was on Jess when suddenly the strangest feeling struck him—the feeling that he was being watched.

But the interesting thing was…he wasn't freaked out. In face, he felt a sensation of…safety, and protection. And familiarity.

He barely heard Jess asking him if he was all right when he stopped to look around. She grabbed onto his arm and tried getting his attention, but he just kept trying to find the source of the feeling.

Finally, he caught sight of a black Impala sitting in the parking lot. A tall figure leaned casually against the car, arms folded across his chest, looking impatient.

"Dean…?" he breathed.

As if hearing it, Dean looked up suddenly, and his eyes locked with Sam's across the courtyard.

Sam felt a jolt in the put of his stomach. "Dean…" he said quietly.

"Who's that?" Jess asked, sounding puzzled.

But Sam couldn't answer, because Dean was already getting into his car. Before he realized what he was doing, he was running full-speed across the yard, leaving a very confused Jess to chase him. "Dean! Dean, wait!"

And although Dean must have heard the calls, must have seen Sam chasing him, it didn't seem to matter. By the time the younger Winchester reached the parking lot, the Impala was already halfway out of it.

"DEAN!" Sam shouted, pushing all the air in his lungs into that one word and ignoring all the attention he was drawing. "DEAN!"

And then his brother was gone, and Sam was left standing there like an idiot.

Alone.

**_Everybody always gave you what you wanted._**

**_You never had to work, it was always there._**

**_You don't know what it's like._**

**_What it's like._**

Sam spent the next four years living the life he'd always dreamed of. He woke up every day to face, not evil demons or angry spirits, but a perfectly normal group of friends and professors.

His classes were difficult, and forced him to use every bit of his intelligence to stay afloat. Everything was fast-paced, almost impossible to keep up with, and Sam thrived on it. He thrived on the pressure, took it and used it like fuel, and it saved him a lot of headaches.

And it didn't hurt that he had one truly wonderful young woman at his side.

In those four years, Sam grew closer the Jessica than he had ever felt when it came to his father, or even Dean, in a way. He couldn't tell her everything, of course, but he certainly talked to her more than he ever talked to anyone in his life. He had never known what it was like to be in love, but now…now he was in so deep that it felt like drowning, but in the best way possible.

Sam had been with her for over two and a half years before they moved in together, and even then it was Jess who suggested it—Sam had never quite mastered the ability of taking the initiative. But once she brought it up, it must be admitted that he jumped at the chance. They found an apartment off-campus, and split the rent, and lived like a married couple.

And through it all, Sam managed to ignore the feeling he had inside—a feeling that had been there all alone and had lately been growing more pronounced. Still, he managed to keep pushing it away…

Until the day Dean came blazing back into town.

**_To be hurt._**

**_To feel lost._**

**_To be left out in the dark._**

**_To be kicked when you're down._**

**_To feel like you've been pushed around._**

**_To be on the edge of breaking down_**

**_And no one's there to save you._**

**_No, you don't know what it's like._**

**_What it's like._**

Sam hadn't ever expected to be in this position again. After he'd left the Winchester apartment that memorable night, he'd thought that all that was behind him for good. And now…now he found himself back with the brother he had barely spoken to except for a few two-or-three-line e-mails that grew rarer and rarer every day. Now he found himself back on the hunt.

It felt both strange and normal at the same time, like a long-missing piece of a puzzle. It was like jumping suddenly from one person, one body, one life, to another.

It was like a dream.

Their hunt lasted a single weekend, and Sam spent that weekend trying to shut out that same feeling he'd had since…well, just about as long as he could remember. Instead, he tried to concentrate on the unique feeling of being with his brother again, and to keep up the dream-haze that was so comforting and safe.

And then the hunt was over, Dean took Sam back to his and Jess's apartment, and…Sam found out that he wasn't living in a dream.

It was a nightmare.

**_To be hurt._**

**_To feel lost._**

**_To be left out in the dark._**

**_To be kicked when you're down._**

**_To feel like you've been pushed around._**

**_To be on the edge of breaking down_**

**_And no one's there to save you._**

**_No, you don't know what it's like._**

The Impala sped up, and Sam was jerked suddenly from his memories by the hum of the engine. It took him a moment to come out of his thoughts, but when he did, he remembered that he and Dean were now headed to St. Louis, to help one of his old college friends whose brother was being accused of murder.

As if that were a trigger, the old feeling struck Sam blindly, with such force that he wouldn't block it out anymore. It was that feeling of being different—that feeling he'd tried to hold back from the time he was old enough to understand what being apart of the Winchester family meant. He had tried to escape it by going to college, but it had gotten worse there, if anything.

And now, finally, he understood the truth—the realization that could not be denied anymore.

"You okay, Sammy?"

There were so many things that Sam wanted to say in reply to Dean's question. So many things held inside…above all, the thing he'd finally come to know in the same way he knew that one plus one equals two.

I'm never going to belong anywhere.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

_**Welcome to my life.  
**__**Welcome to my life.**_

**_Welcome to my life._**

_- - - - - - - - - -_

AN: Well, that was…interesting, wasn't it? I don't think I've ever written a fic without fluff in it…at least a little…but this one was devoid of all things fluff! That is just wrong…

Well, anyways—please excuse any and all inaccuracies in this fic. I've never actually been to college so I don't exactly know how the system works.

And as always, my last note is: PLEASE REVIEW! I thrive on feedback!

_- - - - - - - - -_

_"_**Happy families are alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." -Tolstoy**

**"I hold it true, whatever befall.**

**I feel it when I sorrow most.**

**'Tis better to have loved and lost**

**Than never to have loved at all."**

**-Alfred Lord Tennyson**

**"When you reach the end of the world, the only thing to do is look back the way you came." –lonely as a star**


End file.
